


The Toaster

by mm8



Series: If You Were Not Here, Then My Life Would Not Be Complete [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Electrocution, I swear this will make sense eventually, Injury, M/M, Missing Persons, Pre-Slash, Slow Build, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm8/pseuds/mm8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though Sherlock Holmes doesn't quite exist on a physical plane, one Christmas he and John discover that he can be severally injured.</p><p>Part 2 in the 'If You Were Not Here, Then My Life Would Not Be Complete' series. Follows 'The Flying Girl'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Toaster

"Jesus Christ!" John yelled, jumping backwards as sparks flew from the toaster. All he had been trying to do was make a bit of toast for breakfast for himself and Sherlock. Why the hell had the bloody thing tried to kill him? It was practically brand new! They had bought it from Mark and Spencers only two days ago. Sherlock said that it was high quality, top of—

Sherlock. Sherlock? _Sherlock_.

He marched to Sherlock's bedroom muttering under his breath, "I'm going to kill him." John pounded on the door. "Sherlock! Open up! I know you're in there! I can hear you playing!"

The sorrowful music abruptly stopped, soft footsteps fell on the creaky floorboards crossing the room and as far as John could tell, stopped around at bed. John took this as a sign that he was allowed entry into Sherlock's room. He barged into his flat mate's room with a fury. "Sherlock, what the hell have you done to the toaster?"

Sherlock was as still as a statue, lying on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling with his fingers steepled. "Whatever do you mean, John?"

John glared daggers at him. "You know _exactly_ what I mean, Sherlock. Just," he's so flustered he didn't know what to say. "Go fix the damn toaster!"

He marched away back to the common area and was surprised to see that Sherlock actually followed what he said for a change. "Thank you," he muttered under his breath.

The sound of Sherlock fiddling with the appliance and cursing pleased John somehow. He had a big grin on his face while reading the morning paper. 

"AAARRRGHHH!"

John bolted out of his seat and ran to the kitchen in time to see Sherlock fall to the floor. His eye immediately went to the toaster. The outlet _and_ the toaster itself were shooting out sparks. And Sherlock… God, _Sherlock_.

He ran to his bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time, grabbed his medical bag and flew down the stairs again. His breath was taken out of him once he reached the kitchen again…

John dropped his medical bag and whirled around. 

Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. 

He checked Sherlock's bedroom, the bathroom, the closets. All empty. John went back upstairs to see if for some reason Sherlock had gone up there. Every room was unoccupied.

"Sherlock, if this is some kind of a joke!" Panic and desperation rang through John's cry.

He ran downstairs, screaming and knocking on Mrs. Hudson's door until she answered.

"Dearie, whatever is the matter?"

"Mrs. Hudson, have you seen Sherlock by any chance?"

Mrs. Hudson lifted an eyebrow. "Your flat mate, dear? No, can't say that I have. Is something wrong?"

John leaned against the door frame; it was the only thing that kept him standing.

\---

_"Will you stay with me forever?"_

_"Don't be absurd, John. Nothing lasts forever. Humans die. Trees get cut down. Leaves turn to dust—"_

_"But… will you?"_

_"Yes."_

\---

Ever since he was four years old, John hadn't gone a day without having Sherlock Holmes by his side. He's in his thirties now. Sherlock had always been there. He was with him when to help fight off bullies, when he got his first kiss (and boy was that awkward), even when he was shipped off to Afghanistan.

John was alone. Truly alone and not sure what his next move should be for the first time in his life.

\---

He found himself wandering to crime scenes. Usually he'd relied on Sherlock and his initiative to find the crime. But now he had to download a police scanner on his mobile and go from there. He can't get much from the crime scenes. He observed some medical details, but without Sherlock it wasn't the same, not really.

Apparently, he was losing weight rapidly. Mrs. Hudson kept cooing over him and inviting him over for tea and dinner. John kept declining though. He's just not in the mood to eat. 

Sarah was worried about his work performance. His bedside manner wasn't what it used to be. She's decided to cut him back on hours, a sort of 'get your shit together' vacation. 

It'd been two weeks since Sherlock had disappeared.

\---

_"Do you think you can ever die?"_

_"I don't know, John."_

_"I hope… that you don't die."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because I want you to stay with me forever."_

\---

It was five o'clock in the morning when John was startled awake by a nightmare, and frightened yet again by the sight of Sherlock's older brother standing at the foot of his bed.

"Good morning, John," Mycroft said smoothly. "I would have hoped you had slept well, but I know that you had quite a fitful night."

John cuts right to the chase. "Where's Sherlock?" 

Mycroft's mouth set into a deep frown, and he sighed. "I don't know."

John tried to stay calm, his nostrils flared and he curled his fists. "You. Don't. Know." He gritted his teeth together. "How is this possible, Mycroft? How—"

"I'm sorry," Mycroft answered in his most professional manner. "I assure you that I don't have the answer for you."

Goddamnit, John wanted to punch him. "Then why are you here?"

They both stayed silent, aware of the double meaning of the statement.

\---

The weeks progressed to months and there was still no sign of Sherlock.

John had made a habit of sleeping in Sherlock's room, but now his flat mate's scent, comforting before, was all but gone.

Tomorrow was Christmas Day, and John wasn't sure what there was to live for anymore.

\---

_"John."_

Shit, he's dreaming again.

_"John."_

Sherlock's scent is so potent. It's so nice. So soothing.

_"John, please wake up. I need you. John."_

John shifted, automatically moving his arm to slap his alarm clock, but startled to register the fact that instead of plastic, his hand hits flesh.

He opened his eyes and sat upright.

There, lying next to him, disheveled and thin, was Sherlock.

"Oh God," John held Sherlock to his chest and stroked his curly hair. "Oh God, God. I thought. I thought." Tears stream down his face and blind his vision, but he doesn't bother to wipe them. "Where did you go? Where did you go?"

Sherlock gazed up at him, lost and afraid, so out of character that John was taken aback. "I don't know," he whimpered. "It was cold and dark. I couldn't see. I kept calling out for you, but—"

"Shh," John rocked them both until they fell into a peaceful slumber. 

Someday they'd dive into what the hell had happened. It was what they did after all; they found out the truth. But right now, they needed to recover and rebuild.

**Author's Note:**

> I may possibly re-work this later but the plot WILL remain the same. If I do I will let you know.
> 
>  
> 
> * Kudos are amazing and I will never stop asking for them, but getting comments, actual feedback from readers means so much. Taking five seconds out of your time can really make my day.
>   
> 
> * You can follow me on [tumblr](http://mm8fic.tumblr.com/).
>   
> 


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